Something worth fighting for
by FosterthePhoenix
Summary: Harry must contemplate an important question, one that could change his outlook on life forever. Yes, I changed the quote. May become a two-shot.


**Something worth fighting for**

**An: I thought up the idea for this while I was listening to some relaxation music. The idea, like the music, seemed sad, hopeful, and beautiful, and I flew with it. Usually my ideas are somewhat lighthearted, but I wanted this one to be sadder, with a slightly reminiscing tone. I hope I succeed.**

_**Licez Ce qui suit, chers Amis.**_

Harry stared into Voldemort's hungry red eyes, flashing with malice. He felt his hands grip Voldemort's robes, Voldemort's hands clutching his face, making his scar burn painfully, but he was far beyond caring anymore. His ears rang, but it could still pick out the screams of the fighters, the curses being called out, the sobbing of the family and friends of the dead, and the low moaning of the wounded and dying. He could see out of the corners of his eyes flashes of red and green, but it was all his poor eyesight could make out in the hazy, dark night. The smell of sweat and dirt tainted his nostrils. He was tired. Tired, and disheartened. He had died once today, and lost many people he had cared about deeply… and the person standing directly in front was the cause for it all. He stood so close; Harry thought he could smell his evil, leaking off of him like sweat, if Voldemort's artificial body could sweat, that is. Then, something flashed in Voldemort's eyes, and the question that would change Harry's mind forever, always ricocheting in his head, influencing his decisions, rolled off Voldemort's slightly forked tongue.

"Why do you live?"

Harry almost answered, and then stopped himself. Why _did _he live? He had family; even if they weren't blood related, they were none the less his family. He had friends, friends who would be devastated if he died, friends who would vow their revenge on Voldemort. But was that enough to live for? To keep air in his lungs and his heart pumping blood? Everyone had friends and family. But did this stop them from dying? No, it didn't. So what had kept _him _alive for so long, what with constant attempts on his life? What was his driving force, what kept him strong? He thought perhaps love. It was what had kept him alive physically, his mother's love that is, for so long. He thought of Ginny. His heart gave a strange twist at the thought of her. Although his mind screamed yes, his heart whispered no. As he picked his heart's answer, an answer that provided a rush of information, news to him. Yes, he had fancied Ginny; Ginny, with her long swinging red hair, and her fierce brown eyes. She'd been perfect for him, then, at least. She encouraged him; she played Quidditch alongside him, and refused to leave his side, even if it was for her own good. But dying had changed him; had enlightened him. Ginny had been the perfect, vivacious girlfriend for him. But now…now he was changed.

This surprised him, but he knew it was true. Yes, he was changed, certainly, but for the better? That remained to be seen. But what _did _he live for? For a moment, he panicked, wondering if he _did _have anything to live for. And then, his heart came to the rescue once again, whispering _Hermione…_

Harry was puzzled. Yes, Hermione was one of his best friends, but how was she what he lived for? But, the more it rolled around his mind, the more he liked it. Hermione had stuck with him when no one, not even Ron, had. She was intelligent at worst and brilliant at best. She had made him mad, but had also made him the happiest he had ever felt in his life. She comforted him, and in turn he comforted her. She loved Ron; he loved Ginny (although not the way he used to, not anymore) She understood him, even when he was acting in a confusing way. He could comprehend what she said, even when she took to mumbling quietly under her breath, lost in thought. They could be talking rowdily in each other's company, but would be just as well quietly studying in each other's presence.

Hermione understood him; she had been a part of his adventures too, had she not? She had seen what he'd seen…even more than what Ron had seen with him. Ginny had always been sheltered from it, for the most part. She had been in the Chamber of Secrets, and had been with them when they broke into the Ministry of Magic, but _she _had never seen someone killed before your very eyes. _She _had never been tortured out of her mind. The biggest thing? She wasn't Hermione. She couldn't be, because no one could take that special witch's place. She held a part of Harry's heart he didn't even know existed. He wanted it though; craved it. Wanted _her; _craved _her. _No one could ever take her place, ever.

He loved her.

The truth was that. It was so simple, so easy he wondered as to why he had never thought of it before. Everyone had seen it before him, everyone. Ron, Rita, Viktor, Cho…the list went on and on. Even Dumbledore had seen it…and he was a fool to have never seen it himself. Because now she was gone, off to her own happy ever after with Ron. But he was happy for her; happy that she was happy. He promised himself silently, that wherever she was, wherever she went he would follow. He would, with his last breath, if it so required, protect her, always.

Some may think that continuing with these bitter thoughts he would be grim. But he couldn't be, not really. He'd finally found what kept him going, his driving force; loving Hermione, and making sure that, if he could never be with her, he would make _sure _he protected her.

And so, with a slight grin on his lips, he replied, "Because I have something worth living for."

And then he took the jump.

_La fin es proche, mes amis._


End file.
